The Foundations

A message from my friend George from grad school, I had to share:

How’s it going? Commonwealth Ave has not been the same since you left. The shadow of your fedora creeps no more against the greasy, weathered bricks of dark, recessed dorms. The smoke of duck fat lingers in the alleys and open windows, yet you are not there. Screams pierce the night scolding the modern world for its insolence toward a culinary past secure in its techniques, foundations, and resourcefulness. Is it you or the ghost of you?—like Hamlet’s father you haunt the devoted to avenge the wrongs of the non-believers. “ Foundations,” we whispered in the ears of those who would listen. Damn the tubes, the circulators, the foam, the oxide—these are the false prophets, we warned. But they would not listen. The magic flashed and they succumbed to it. So we wait…and we wait still. The cycle is near completion. Until then, my comrade, hold fast to the promise of the egg. Stay loyal to our five mothers who have served and will serve again. I wipe my brow with the cloth of our masters and repudiate those who mock our simplicity. In the end it, it will be the clock moving backwards which will propel us forward. In the words of our brothers, I say again, foundations, foundations, foundations….